first time i was fired
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No dollar dance:
pinball costs only a quarter!
With such a minor billet deux
I could be everyone’s partner.
Distributing token affection on command.
Although the punks has shivs instead of sixguns,
and shot spittle instead of lead.
I’d be dead meat with two left feet.
Somewhere between gigolo and catamite.
My waltz smile went with the change.
Part of la service, of course.
I practiced the moves after hours
Until every step seemed like deja vu
Tactile tympani told the tasks:
Where to slide the hands,
When to part the knees
How to coax another few minutes
before it was time to turn her over to the next.
The women arrived only to leave.
staying but shortly each time
on the sidewalk abattoir.
It was a man’s world inside,
And I let them find what they wanted.
Whispering secrets in their ears when they came.
Sandwiches and smokes available at the barre
Up on point late, I finally graced
A couple of the regulars with freebies
and became le premier danseur in Hell.
le Maitre D’ was a devil
Le maestro with five encores at Alcoholic’s Anonymous.
Three world-wise years older,
Told me he knowed me better then I knowed myself.
He seen the people I hang with!
I watched his smile grow
Knowing mes cher amis had never stopped by.
1988
poem copyright © 1988 mark gilbert gadzikowski
all rights reserved
